


Teamwork

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Phil Coulson, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Slash, Teamwork, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 00:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10373499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: Phil has some very strong feelings about how to craft a good team.





	

Phil Coulson clicked the stopwatch as Clint Barton crossed the finish line of the SHIELD obstacle course. "7 minutes, 32 seconds" he said, trying to keep the admiration out of his voice. Clint's time was 45 seconds faster that the next best agent on this particular run, and 18 seconds faster that the all-time course record. Clint had picked up a lot of time on the parallel bars, had gone up the wall as if it had a ladder, and on the climbing ropes… On the climbing ropes Clint hadn't even bothered using his legs, he'd just pulled himself up hand-over-hand then moved from one to the other with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. Phil scanned the group of Level 3 and 4 Agents in front of him to stop himself staring at Clint's arms and shoulders as he took his place in line. 

Which is why Phil clearly both saw and heard Agent Chris Zaber mutter 'fucking circus freak.' Zaber, of course, had the second best time on the course today.

"Zaber, front and center," Phil barked in his 'scare the piss out of the probies' voice. Then in a much more measured tone, "Agent Barton, would you come here please." Both men stepped up, Clint still breathing hard and with a faint smile on his lips, Zaber scowling. "Agent Zaber you will apologize to Agent Barton for that remark."

"Aw, come on, sir. It was just a joke," said Zaber, his tone wheedling but his expression defiant.

"No," Coulson said. His voice was low now, but loud enough for the whole group of agents to hear clearly. "It wasn't a joke. A joke is funny, and everyone can share in the humor. You weren't making a joke; you made a cruel comment at Agent Barton's expense, intended to cause him shame, and pain, because he was faster than you on the course."

Zaber was starting to turn pink with a combination of embarrassment and anger.

"Sir, it's okay‑" Clint said, but Phil turned on him. 

"No, it's not okay," Phil said, now addressing the entire group. His back was ramrod straight, his chin was held high and his shoulders were pulled back. It was a trick he'd learned in the Army to make himself look taller than his five-foot-ten frame. "It's not okay to make demeaning comments about your fellow agents, and then try to pass it off as a joke. I can't order you not to have prejudices, but I can, and I will, order you to keep them to yourselves. If I hear a snide remark about someone's gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, education, or background, you'll be answering to me. And apologizing, like Agent Zaber is about to. Isn't that right, Agent?" Phil said in a voice so harsh that a couple of the younger Level 3 agents actually took a step backwards.

Zaber's throat was working, no doubt trying to swallow with a dry mouth. "Sorry, Barton," he mumbled, looking at the floor.

"And just to make sure you remember, you'll give me a hundred push-ups." Phil was smiling blandly, almost hoping that Zaber would refuse, so that he could make a formal note in the asshole's file. 

Zaber looked like he was trying to decide whether to do as he was told, or say 'Fuck you' to a senior officer's face. He apparently decided that his career was more important than his pride and with a sigh, he got down on the ground. Phil followed.

"What are you doing, sir?" Zaber asked.

"I would never order an agent to do something I wasn't willing to do myself. You can do the counting, though." Phil got into a push-up position and looked up at group of agents who were standing around with either grins or incredulous looks on their faces.

Zaber lowered himself into his first push-up and Phil matched his pace. "One… two… three… four…" Zaber grunted through the count. 

Phil focused on his form, remembering a drill sergeant he'd once had who would make his platoon of recruits do the entire set over again if anyone's form was less than perfect. The movements were easy, familiar, and Phil did each push-up with confidence. Next to him, he could hear Zaber starting to breathe hard. The man had just completed a difficult obstacle course after all. But they weren't even at fifty yet. Surely Zaber wasn't so out of condition that… Maybe that's why he'd been so upset about loosing to Barton. Zaber probably thought he was in better shape than he was. Had let his training slide since he made Level Four. Well, Phil was going to show him exactly how bad of an idea that was. He was still moving consistently through each push-up, back strait, elbows achieving a perfect ninety-degree angle and his nose an inch from the mat before pushing himself back up. They hit sixty and beside him Zaber's count faded into a wheeze of harsh breath. 

"Help him out, people," Phil said, glancing up at the group of watching agents. "Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three…"

A few of the assembled agents picked up the count raggedly, then the rest of the group joined in chanting, "Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy." He couldn't hear Barton's voice among the group, but Phil didn't dare look up to check. Instead he glanced over at Zaber who was red in the face and struggling. "Come on, Zaber, you can do this," Phil said as the count rang out. A couple of his fellow agents cheered Zaber on in a show of solidarity that Phil had been hoping for. He wanted them to behave like a team, and the kind of petty insults that Zaber threw around (this wasn't the first instance, which is why Phil was coming down so hard on him) went against everything that, as far as Phil was concerned, made a good agent. And everything he, personally, stood for. 

But Zaber's arms were trembling badly, and even team spirit couldn't keep him going past the count of "eighty-two." Phil kept going. Half the group kept counting, and a couple of others urged Zaber to get back up and try to finish, even though it was clear that he didn't have a single push-up left in him.

Phil could feel the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the slight burn in his arms. Only slight, because he made a point of staying in field-ready shape, and therefore put himself through a set of basic calisthenics which included a set of 100 push-ups every morning before his shower. It must have impressed some of the younger agents because one of them called out, "Yeah, go sir!" At 88 someone started to clap, and the rest immediately joined in. Knowing it was pure vanity, but indulging in it anyway, Phil showed off by pushing off the ground and clapping for each of the last ten push-ups. The group of agents erupted in a cheer when he bounced to his feet after the triumphant shout of "One-hundred."

Phil turned to Zaber and offered him a hand up. Zaber looked up at him, considering, then seemed to capitulate and let himself be hauled to his feet. 

"Good effort," Phil said.

"Yeah, whatever."

Phil kept a genial smile on his face and turned to the group. "Okay, we're done for today. Hit the showers, people." Phil kept a close eye on the group of agents as they filed out of the training room, watching for mutters or side-eyes or anything that indicated someone or someones were taking issue with his disciplinary tactics. He noticed that Barton and Zaber kept to opposite sides of the group, but apart from that it didn't look like there was going to be any lasting trouble. Phil hoped.

~~~~~~

Four hours later Phil was sitting behind his desk in his office, working through the assessment report for the agents he'd been training that morning. Some of them were up for promotion. Some he was going to recommend to transfer to specialty departments, such as tactical analysis, communications, or research. Some, like Zaber, Phil knew he would need to keep a close eye on for the next little while. Barton's file was at the bottom of the pile. Phil left it for last because he needed more time with it. Time to read through everyone else's assessments carefully. Time to make sure he was being fair and impartial when he signed the recommendation that Barton be promoted from Level 4 to Level 5. He had just reached for that last folder when there was a knock on his office door.

"Come in." Phil gathered the folders into a neat stack and put them to the side as the door opened and Clint Barton came in and closed it behind himself.

"I can fight my own battles," Clint said without preamble. "I don't need you doing it for me." Hiss hands were on his hips and he was looking defiantly down at Phil.

"This isn't the first time Zaber has lashed out at a fellow agent with a belittling remark. I needed to nip it in the bud," Phil said gently.

"I can take care of my myself." Clint stick his chin out defiantly.

"I know you can, Clint," Phil said, conscious of the fact that he'd just used Barton's first name. "That's not what this was about. Will you to sit down so that I can explain?" 

When Clint flopped into one of the guest chairs, Phil leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk. "When you're out in the field on a mission, you need to be able to trust the agents you're working with. How much do you trust Zaber right now?"

"About as far as I could throw him."

"Exactly. But I hope he trusts me, and maybe the rest of the group, too, a little more than he did." Phil didn't actually hold out a whole lot of hope that the leopard would change his spots, but until proven otherwise, he was going to continue to give Zaber the benefit of the doubt. For now.

"He'd be stupid not to trust you," Clint said, as if Phil's trustworthiness was a self-evident fact of the universe. The idea that Clint saw it that way made Phil feel warm inside and he couldn't help smile a very small smile.

"Besides, I know how much those kind of remarks can hurt. I've been on the receiving end often enough," Phil said softly.

"No way anyone dares say something like that to you!" Clint seemed to be vacillating between outrage and disbelief.

"Not these days, no, but there were a few years when I got called a 'god-dammed cocksucking faggot' pretty regularly," Phil said, watching while Clint's eyes went wide in surprise.

"Not here," Clint said with outrage in his voice. "They made it totally clear during our orientation sessions. And when Fury recruited me, he said that my being, uh, not straight, would never be an issue."

"No, not here. And Fury told me the same thing. But guys like Zaber will throw around any kind of insult they can think of. What do you think he'd call you in private, if he thought he could get away with it?" Phil asked. Clint rolled his eyes, and then shrugged, but it was obvious he knew what Phil meant.

"This was about him and his behavior, and whether or not he's going to decide change enough to stay in SHIELD," Phil explained. "You just happened to be his target this time."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, okay, I guess I see where you're coming from." Clint straightened up from his usual sprawl. "So, um, you're, um… not straight either? Sorry, I guess I have no right to ask."

Phil smiled softly. "That's okay, I'm not in the closet. And yes, I'm gay. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"No. I mean, I guess not…"

"Will you do something for me, Clint?" 

"Sure. Of course, what do you need?" Clint was now sitting up straight, looking like he was ready to be handed an assignment.

"If you have any more trouble with Zaber, if he tries to retaliate, or anything at all. Would you please come and tell me rather than dealing with it yourself? I need to know if he's learned his lesson or not." 

"Uh, yeah. I guess I can do that."

"Thank you," Phil said with a sincere smile. "I appreciate that a great deal."

"No problem." Clint shifted in his chair. "I mean if it'll help."

"It will." It would kill two birds with one stone: keeping Clint out of trouble for fighting (however good the reason) with a fellow agent; and helping him keep tabs on Zaber's behavior. "Thank you."

"Yeah, of course. I mean, whatever you need." Clint flushed a little and pushed himself out of his chair. "Is, uh, is there anything else?" he asked, apparently forgetting that he'd been the one to barge into Phil's office. 

"No, that's everything for now," Phil said, keeping a straight face but grinning on the inside. 

Clint sketched something that might have been a salute with his right hand and turned to leave. But he paused with his hand on the door.

Phil watched as he squared his shoulders and blew his breath out, then turned back again.

"Uh, Coulson?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if, that is to say, I wanted to ask you… Wouldyouhavecoffeewithmesometime?"

It took Phil a second to parse Clint's sentence, then another to remind himself that he was about to recommend Clint for promotion to Level 5, Senior Agent, and therefore, technically, Phil's equal in SHIELD rank. 

"Yes, Clint," Phil said, letting a wide smile spread across his face, "I'd like that very much."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at: Jo Mathieson and on Imzy at: [Purple Passion](https://www.imzy.com/purplepassion)


End file.
